


Patronicles

by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe



Series: Sing, O Goddess [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Established Relationship, Fraternities & Sororities, French Toast Sticks, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Inter-House Warfare, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe/pseuds/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe
Summary: Patroclus Menoides dates Achilles, somehow always ends up washing dishes, survives on french toast sticks, plays awkward wingman, and judiciously avoids the bid from every frat on campus.Oh, and dicks. Lots of dicks.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Series: Sing, O Goddess [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629808
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	1. First Date

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuing adventures of Patrochilles directly following the events of: [And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it]().

1

 **Because Achilles was a true romantic** , they ended up scaling the fence at the Tennis courts and breaking into the supply shed for their first “date.” Apparently Achilles was very good at lock picking.

“This doesn’t actually count,” Patroclus said, taking the racket Achilles handed him. He wasn’t particularly romantic himself, but he knew an arrest for breaking and entering did not count.

“You told me that you would shove flowers up my ass.” Achilles dug out another racket and a bucket of scuffed practice balls. 

“What am I going to do with flowers?”

“You could have put them on your carrel,” Achilles said as if giving Patroclus flowers was a reasonable, normal thing to do. “I picked a lock for you.” He gave him a hopeful look that suggested Patroclus praise him. 

“Thank you, Achilles, for picking a lock for me.”

“I am the best.”

Outside of his romanticism and lockpicking abilities, Achilles was also apparently super competitive. In many ways, this could be to Patroclus’ benefit. 

Three hours later, however, Patroclus was concerned that his arm might fall off. He panted out a weary “Can we call this?” while catching a ball on the edge of the racket and sending it over to Achilles. It was said that everyone had hidden talents; apparently hitting a ball over a net was one of Patroclus’.

“How are you even doing this?” Achilles asked, sweating and exasperated. Pat had no idea. Pat had ordered contact replacements but was still in his glasses as it took forever for anything to come through the campus mailroom. Even Achilles was losing stamina, his serves progressively slowing. 

“Do you even like tennis?” Patroclus asked.

“No. But I like you,” Achilles said as if it were very obvious. Pat lobbed the ball back.

“Then why are we still doing this?”

Achilles paused with the ball, face scrunched up in thought. “Because I wanted to be with you… and then I sort of wanted to beat you?” He looked up at Pat, somewhat alarmed by what he’d said.

Pat laughed. It bubbled out until he had to use the racket to support him. “You are completely insane.”

“But you like me.” Achilles looked particularly smug. He also looked like he was going to throw in the towel. Or at least whatever they were doing. 

“I do.”

Achilles hopped over the net, using his racket to snag Patroclus and give him a filthy, slightly sweaty kiss. Then tapped Patroclus on the ass with the racket and broke off for the shed. “You should try out for the tennis team. They would be lucky to have you.”

“I’m not going to try out for the tennis team.”

“Why not? All TKEs do sports. It’s a sacred tradition. A right of passage.”

“I’m not a TKE,” Patroclus reminded him.

“Not yet.” Achilles did not do cunning very well and it came off sounding more threatening than anything. “Will you wear my letters then?”

Patroclus snorted. “And become an _Ero-TKE_ ?” At some point during the TKE “Golden Age” the women who wore the frat letters - and it was almost exclusively women - were christened “ _Ero-TKE_ s.” To separate them from Theta's “FƟXy,” the Sigs’ “sΣXy,” and Zeta's “Sisters” (because no one could overtly objectify women with a zeta and sigma). In theory, Penelope was an _Ero-TKE_ , though he’d never seen her in letters. “No thank you.”

“Will you move in with me, then?”

“With you _and_ Antilochus?” 

“Do you want me to ask him to move out?” The Monday after they hooked up, Antilochus gave him the shovel talk when they’d ended up in Locris at the same time. _Bros before hoes, man. Though I’m not saying you’re a hoe, Patroclus, because Achilles would kill me. And I like you._ Though they didn’t look much alike, their mannerisms, style of dress, vocal inflections, and sense of humor gave the impression that they were twins.

“I could not separate you without killing you both.” It came out with a huff as Patroclus clambered over the fence directly behind Achilles and dropped onto the grass.

“True. But you _like_ Antilochus, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess. He seems like a cool guy. A real _brah_.”

“Never say that again.”

“But isn’t it a sacred tradition? A rite of passage?” Patroclus smirked at Achilles’ obvious disgust.

“Patroclus.” Achilles’ pressed his right hand against this chest, mock-shocked. “You are a total dick.” 

“Yep.” With a laugh, Patroclus started running. He didn’t need to look back to know that Achilles was following; directly on his heels and far less winded. Achilles caught him up before Pat could claim sanctuary at the doors of the Delphi, laughing and slightly out of breath. Pat opened his mouth to say something when Achilles palmed his neck and kissed him. After a gasping pause, Patroclus kissed back and they were two idiots making out in front of the Delphi giving its patrons a show. Achilles’ mouth was warm and Patroclus was reluctant to leave it. But someone hit the window from the inside and Pat jumped away. 

“Get a room!” Bri yelled, leaning over the mess of her open textbook, pens, and two empty mugs. When she had their attention, she pointed at Achilles, “You break his heart and I’ll dig yours out with a spoon.” 

For obvious reasons, Pat had yet to bring Achilles back to the House.

There was no way everyone in the Delphi hadn’t heard it. “Oh my god. I’ll never be able to come here again.” Before Pat could bemoan the fates, Achilles dragged him in by his hand and to the counter. Bri tapped her spoon against her lips. Menacingly.

“Do you think she has the strength to gouge out my eyes with a spoon?” 

“We just started an advanced bio module featuring ocular composition.” Patroclus raised his brow - which Achilles traced in amazement and Pat slapped away. “Just sayin’.”

Achilles shook his head, “Do you want coffee?”

“Yesss.” The hand not trying to map Pat’s face squeezed his. Achilles’ brilliant grin in full force and the student employee behind the till was almost knocked over by it. Patroclus could relate.

“I like that you don’t try to hide your excitement about things. About me.”

Patroclus would probably have managed some suave response, just as Achilles had handed his dining card over, if one of the TKE pledges hadn’t burst through the door of the Delphi panting and trailing his “Pledge” sash. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Patroclus asked, attempting to translate gasps into English. Achilles was on high alert.

“The Sigs have the Palladium.”

**[Chorus] -- Hector’s POV**

Meanwhile at Sigma Chi…

After the third call in five minutes, Andromache leaned across the table. “It’s alright if you take that. I’ll marry you even if we’re interrupted while you work up the courage to ask me to marry you.”

“I---” Hector, who had the ring in the right pocket of his blazer, was embarrassed, impressed, and always amazed that the brilliant, beautiful woman across from him actually wanted to be with him. Andromache’s manifold assets weren’t immediately obvious on a casual glance. It had taken a semester of Epic in the European Literary Tradition to catch on to her sharp wit and the way her eyes lit up when she was amused. But after somehow convincing her he was serious about Beowulf and getting coffee, she was the most important thing in his life. 

Although he did have commitments. Like Sarpedon, who had called him three times in the last five minutes. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“It’s alright. But I expect fireworks and a madrigal as a recompense.” Her eyes were sparkling in humor. 

“As you wish.” 

He stepped out to the restroom to call Sarpedon back, grinding out, “This had better be important” before Sarpedon managed,

“It’s Paris.” The two words guaranteed to set Hector’s hackles up. He had a wealth of siblings, most of whom he was close to, but he did not get on with his brother. Anyone else would have (rightly) called Paris an asshole or jealous. He would always find a way to upstage his brother even to the point of ruining his proposal. But Hector, who was polite and perhaps a little too forgiving, would never. “I would never have called otherwise.” Everyone knew where he was and who he was with. Sarpedon and his sister, Cassandra, had helped him pick out the ring.

“What has he done this time?” He looked back at Andromache, patient and waiting on the dessert they’d ordered to share, feeling a migraine coming on. The Sigs were up for chapter renewal with the international Sigma Chi organization and didn’t need something like the “Beauty Contest '' issue. A warning from the Greek Council for underage drinking and naked freshmen that had involved an internal investigation, a strike on more than one Sig’s record (three and you were out), and a lot of paperwork and training courses on Priam’s end. He’d been well shot of Paris when Hector became President. 

“He broke into the TKE house and stole the Palladium.”

“Fuck.” There had always been bad blood between the two fraternities - sometimes overt, sometimes simmering - but there had not been an attack since the late 80s. The last time the Palladium had been stolen. “Um… can’t we just give it back?”

“Yes, but… we don’t know where it is.”


	2. The Parable of Philoctetes

2

**Patroclus spent a lot of time at the Mouseion**. Usually studying, but sometimes shooting the shit with his closest carrell mate, Philoctetes. 

Phil was an engineering student obsessed with Kevin Sorbo’s Hercules (having binged it on Netflix) and belonged to the Troy Archery Club. On paper, they wouldn’t seem to be more than passing acquaintances. But one night, two weeks into the year, Philoctetes turned to him and asked, “Have you been to the Symposium?”

“What’s that?”

“The Symposium is a diner in Mt Parnassus. They’re open 24 hours.”

“I’ve never been.” As Pat didn’t have a car and everything he needed was within five blocks of Lovelace or transportable via Penelope’s car, he’d had no reason to go to Mt Parnassus. It was a city twice the size of Troy and, like Troy, existed around its students. Though Mt Parnassus’ audience was the State school, several magnitudes larger than Troy. “Do you want me to watch your stuff?” As it was almost midnight, it was unlikely that Phil’s carrell would be molested. Though it was strongly advised against, students left their laptops and purses around all the time.

“No, do you want to come with? I could use a cup of coffee.”

The Symposium turned out to be a chrome and flash diner that had once lived in a much larger city and now hosted folk music, art house films, and philosophy students (sans cigarettes which had been banned since the early 90s). Pat liked it right away. Their first trip to the Symposium was where he learned of Phil’s obsession with Kevin Sorbo’s Hercules and that he was a member of the Archery Club.

On the fourth day of knowing Achilles, Pat was escorted to his carrel in the library with only one detour between hymnals and liturgy to make out. Achilles’ hand strayed to his stomach, the shirt rucked up. Pat warned, very close to Achilles’ mouth, “Before you continue, I am not sitting in wet underwear all night.”

“I’ll remember to bring extra next time,” Achilles said with a smile that Patroclus felt against his cheek before getting a hand around Pat’s dick. While Achilles had no problem walking back to TKE sticky with cum - he had just finished practice and had the promise of a shower ahead of him - he adhered to Pat’s demands with his mouth. Achilles had a very wicked mouth. 

“Oh my god,” Pat said afterward, doing up his jeans. “I’m going to be expelled.”

“There’s no camera here,” Achilles said with a great deal of confidence. “Now, the stacks… everyone thinks that’s the best place to get it on in the Mouseion. But it’s the most heavily surveilled. I’ll have to tell you about Lokes - er, Antilochus - and the chemistry girl one day.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.” But he was grinning at Achilles. There was a strong likelihood that it might have been 90% post-coital bliss. “I might get an STD from association.”

Achilles stopped squirming for a moment, giving Pat a look that was almost proud. “You are a stunning human.”

“I mean... Yeah.”

Phil was, as always, in the carrel directly across from Pat’s. Unlike his usual “Hey, Pat,” he was a little stiff, not really looking up from his textbook.

“Hey, man.” Phil gave him a small smile, eyes flicking over to Achilles before turning back. Pat’s greeting made Achilles look over.

“Meliboea,” Achilles sounded genuinely surprised to see him. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.” A pause, then, “How are you doing?” It was weirdly tense. 

Pat started unpacking his backpack while watching them. Phil was cooly polite and Achilles had his right hand at the nape of his neck, a tell that he was nervous. “Er. Good. Really good. Er…” He turned to Pat, “I’m going to take off. See you later?”

“Same time, same place?” Which would be right outside of Lovelace at around 7:00 am. Almost all of Pat’s classes were early and all of Achilles’ were in the afternoon, but the past few mornings a rumpled and groggy Achilles had come over to sneak Pat into Locris for french toast sticks. They knew their days were numbered as the door monitor would only accept a “lost card” and smile for so long. 

“Yep. Nice seeing you.” He waved at Phil before running out.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Patroclus asked as soon as Achilles was gone. “That I’m dating a man.”

“Oh, no.” Phil sounded genuinely surprised. “It’s just…” He drummed his forefinger against his open textbook. “Are you going to pledge TKE?”

“Absolutely not.”

Phil’s shoulders relaxed. “Ok. Great.” After a pause, he said, “I just want you to know that I have no problem at all that you’re dating Achilles. Like, at all.”

“That’s cool, man.”

“But. Just be careful with the TKEs, okay?” Phil looked down at his textbook. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  
  


**[Chorus]**

It was completely silent in the room except for Ajax breathing next to him. He knew it was Ajax because he had a cold and was trying not to drip on himself, unsure of whether he was allowed to blow his nose. Presumably, Pledge Class Iliad were all there: Achilles, Antilochus, Ajax, Locrian, and himself. They were in the middle of Pledge and while they had no idea what was happening, Philoctetes thought it might be something big. Otherwise, why would they be blindfolded? Locrian, whose name was Ajax but went by his surname, mentioned something about a pledge prank. 

This seemed par for course.

Phil had been having a miserable pledge period. His Pledge Mentor was a TKE named Odysseus who was indifferent at best, downright mean at worst. He’d missed tests due to last-minute schedule notifications. Odysseus had “forgotten” to give Phil his pin, leading to 200 push-ups when another TKE had called it out. On one unfortunately memorable occasion, he’d been cleaning up the kitchen after a party and Odysseus came in to remind him that he wanted it “spit-shined,” directing Phil to lick the filthy counter before wiping it down. Odysseus’ girlfriend, Penelope, had come in on that and called his Mentor a monster. They’d fought and things did not get better after that.

But he didn’t have the heart to tell Herakles, who had put Phil’s name in for consideration, that it was so shitty. He looked up to him and everyone else seemed like fairly decent guys. Odysseus was an asshole, but he wouldn’t be a pledge forever. 

When he was led into another room, they took off his blindfold and he saw two of the brothers, hooded, standing in front of a stuffed deer. So they were in the Chapter room. “The Oracle has spoken and you have been given a task.” Telemachus. Odysseus’ TKE “son” and also a complete asshole. Phil thought he had been on probation for not paying his dues, but obviously not. 

“You must obtain the crystal thing on Dean Kronos’ desk this very evening.”

The “crystal thing” on Dean Kronos’ desk was his award from a fairly prestigious amateur cooking competition sponsored by Bon Appetite. He loved the “crystal thing” more than his children’s lives. “Um…”

“Do you have a problem with this Pledge?” There was a challenge in Odysseus’ question. There was always a question of whether Phil was “man enough” or “up to this process.” Honestly, Phil wasn’t entirely sure anymore. But he thought about Herakles and shook his head.

“Return to us in two hours,” Telemachus said and he was summarily dismissed.

He didn’t much like to think about what happened in Dean Kronos’ office. He didn’t have to break in. Phil had a key as the sophomore member of Student Council. But looking at the “crystal thing” he pondered the value of wearing those letters. Even for Herakles. If things had worked out - the janitor not been early, he’d not hesitated - he might have succeeded. Instead, he ended up fleeing through the second-floor window and falling into the bushes below. The Bon Appetite award shattering on the sidewalk. 

Phil didn’t know that right away as he’d lost consciousness when a bone in his leg broke through the skin. 

He also didn’t know that there had been an emergency meeting at the House. Herakles, who was President at the time, investigated immediately. As it happened to the Dean, the Greek Council _and_ administration removed their ability to admit new members for a year. The college didn’t have a clear cut harassment policy, but the Greek Council passed a no-tolerance measure during the Winter term and all the TKEs had to take training with a consultant the college brought in. 

Telemachus was expelled from the frat. Odysseus, by dint of his family, went on probation but had a new pledge when he could.

Philoctetes refused to talk, even when a very tired Herakles sat in the chair next to his hospital bed. He was embarrassed and angry and just _done_. He was certain that everyone knew and let it happen. That he’d gone along without questioning. He went through months of physical therapy after a couple of surgeries and returned his Junior year.

No, there was no love lost between the greek system and Philoctetes.


	3. Chorus: Sigma Chi Pledge Chatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Sigma Chi's newest pledge class. Who are completely fucked.

**[Chorus]**

[Amydon] How about the library stacks for the handoff?

[Memnon] Can’t you just put it under your bed?

_Hermes likes this._

_Amydon dislikes this._

[Amydon] First of all. It is probably cursed. Do I want to die in my sleep? Secondly

[Amydon] If you’ll recall, my RA is a TKE

[Hermes]...who will also kill you in your sleep...

[Amydon] And has announced “random” room checks

[Amydon] I think he is suspicious of me

[Troilus] You are suspicious

[Troilus] I mean…

[Troilus] You have a bow tie collection?

_Amydon dislikes this._

_Hermes likes this._

_Memnon likes this._

[Amydon] And?

[Memnon] … a stuffed doll

[Troilus] 

_Amydon dislikes this._

_Memnon dislikes this._

_Hermes dislikes this._

[Memnon] How are you going to transport it?

[Amydon] Okay. Hear me out.

[Hermes] Oh lort, he has a plan…

[Troilus] Is this better than agreeing to harbor contraband from a blood thirsty fraternity that out numbers ours 3:1?

[Amydon] guys

[Hermes] Oh lort

[Amydon] I’m going to be sneaky by _not_ being sneaky, right?

[Memon] Explain

[Hermes] Don’t encourage him

[Amydon] Gentlemen

[Troilus] Gentle _them_

[Hermes] #GenderIsAConstruct

[Amydon] GentleTHEM. 

[Amydon] I’m going to put the “package” in my roommate’s reusable shopping bag!

[Troilus] why is "package" in quotes? is this the doll, or are we referring to something else

_Amydon dislikes this._

[Hermes]

_Amydon dislikes this._

[Memnon] And…….

[Amydon] And… go shopping?

[Troilus] You realize the doll is like a foot and a half, right?

[Amydon] Ok. New plan.

[Hermes] Oh lort

[Memnon] Just put it in a box and throw some recyclables on it

[Memnon] Your roommate is addicted to red bulls, right?

[Hermes] That’s fucking brilliant

[Troilus] But put it in a bag. So nothing gets on it, right?

[Troilus] Like. I don’t want to die.

[Hermes] Esp not for Perez

[Hermes] #fuckboi

[Amydon] Tomorrow

[Troilus] Ok

[Troilus] we need milk, so we’ll check it out

[Troilus] get the lay of the land

[Hermes] AND NO PLAY BY PLAY OF YOUR ‘SUBTERFUGE’

_Amydon dislikes this._

[Amydon] I feel personally attacked

[Hermes] …..


	4. Palladium Mayhem

**4**

**“There is absolutely nothing to eat in this house,”** Helen huffed out from the loveseat scraping the bottom of the last pint of Triple Fudge Sundae Supreme. It was everyone’s favorite flavor, thus its very short shelf life.

Pat had barely walked into Lovelace from the Library before being sucked into a Netflix screening of the “Good Emma.” Which was apparently the one with Romola Garai. “I mean,” Bri started, “Look at the way they look at each other.” Pat looked because she had physically moved his head with her hand. “How could she have possibly thought he fancied Harriet?”

“Isn’t Emma the antagonist?” He almost pulled off the straight face, chin still smooshed in the talon of her hand. He didn’t know anything about ‘Good Emmas,’ but the movie _was_ called Emma.

Bri pushed his head away. “Who asked you?”

“You did. About two seconds ago.”

“Bollocks. But,” she narrowed her eyes. “You can make up for this perfidy by making me an omelet.”

“Do we have eggs?” Helen perked up immediately. “I’ll have one, too.”

“I’m not your personal chef,” Pat sighed. As the only resident of Lovelace who had lived without a meal plan or home cooked meal made by _someone else_ for most of his life, they took vicious advantage of his culinary aptitude. Helen burned coffee (Helen’s-Fucking-Coffee ™). Bri’s rice was weird (Did-Bri-Make-This-Rice ™). Pen attempted to live on boiled eggs and kale, but really just subsisted on junk food. Pat found a recipe for chocolate chip cookies using boiled eggs and usually found a use for wilted kale.

Inevitably, he’d give in. 

He liked cooking and they were so ridiculously grateful for something as easy as beating eggs with some veg and vegan cheese. Sometimes, he even put kale in it.

“Alright.” As it turned out, they did have… an egg. One lonely, wobbly hard-boiled egg in the butter caddy. Pat explained the butter caddy in full many times and yet... butter never actually ended up there. “Sorry guys, but we have… no food.” 

“Walmart?” Helen suggested, dropping the empty carton of ice cream on the table in disgust. “A man cannot live on bread alone.”

“We don’t have bread either.”

The grocery store, the _large_ grocery store and not the ill-stocked college convenience stop, necessitated a car. Thus, Pen was recruited as soon as she’d come back from boxing, already wary of three sets of eyes on her. Finding the last carton of Triple Fudge Sundae Supreme decimated convinced her. As well as the promise of omelets. “This is a mission of mercy.”

“Push me!” Helen said, hopping into the nearest cart in the lot. She was small (#smol), about 5’ exactly and folded up easily in the basket. Pen took the handle and ran past Pat and Bri at breakneck speed.

“Probability of Helen’s demise?”

“Statistics are really not my thing.”

Bri looked horrified. “Statistically speaking, my chance of visiting your practice is now 0%.”

“Like you’re any better. And you’re into _research_. Your shoddy stats will inform my diagnoses. Their blood… will… be… on your hands.” He watched the cart gaining momentum, hurtling towards the glass sliders. “About 50%.”

“Probably closer to 40%. Because Pen is a beast even after punching dicks.”

They stopped just outside the doors. Pen slowing but not letting Helen out. As it was staffed by State college students overnight, no one gave them a second glance. “Onward to produce!” 

Bri and Helen always loaded the cart with “good things.” Good being a relative term as it depended on how hungry they were. Pat would downsize selections to more manageable portions and Pen would swap broccoli out for Triple Fudge Sundae Supreme. And Twinkies. Eventually, their Frankenstein smorgasbord would wobble to the cashier.

Pat and Bri set out for beans and tomato paste leaving Helen and Pen over the avocados.

It was while Pat was comparing store brand from national that Bri whisper-hissed over his shoulder, “I need you to turn around very slowly and look down at the olive oils.”

“Security?” Sadly not a far fetched suggestion. He was still holding the two pastes, certain that the chain obtained theirs from the same factory. 

When he turned, he found a stocky guy about their age in a black hoodie, joggers, and white sneakers with the red Nike swoosh. He had really impressive calves and seemed to be deciding between canola and rapeseed. Pat could commiserate. “What exactly am I looking for? The young man in need of cooking oil? I mean, it is integral to a non-butter lifestyle.”

Bri hit his arm. Which caused him to look over. His nose was a little crooked and his curls gave over to an absolutely perfect fade. He even smiled a little at Pat. Perfect Fade looked completely innocent. “Ugh,” Bri sighed, grabbing the national brand paste from Pat and frog-marching him out of the aisle. “Watch.”

She directed them down the junk aisle, where Pat obtained Twinkies. Sure enough, the guy was back. This time sort of standing by the display at the end of the aisle: a sweet $10/10 chickpeas deal. “Okay? Why are we doing this?”

“Do you think I’m fit?”

“Uh. I mean. Your eyes are very symmetrical...and you have all your teeth.” She hit him again and he really did deserve that. There were a few other evening shoppers and they lost him (if, in fact, he was following to begin with) around the seasonal aisle. Bri deflated, but perked up by the clearance shelf. “Are you really asking if you think _he_ thinks you’re hot?’

“Look at this chalice.” She abruptly changed the subject. Pat, who was a social disaster blessed by a deux ex machina, let her. 

It was, in fact, a chalice. But red plastic with not particularly well painted “jewels” on it. “It’s only… $1. We should get it.” Because Pat had poor impulse control at 11 pm, they ended up getting four of them and a teddy bear for Ginsberg the cat. They ended up behind Perfect Fade standing in line with another boy in a blue button down pouring over a National Enquirer. Perfect Fade looked over the paper before ducking down.

Bri was pretending not to notice. But even Pat noticed. 

“Is this a flirting thing?” Pat asked, quietly, because Bri’s doe eyes had turned deadly when it came to him.

There was only one checkout open and the cashier was ringing up groceries and bagging. “So homecoming is next week,” Helen started, no longer in the cart. They had picked up about four dozen eggs. “Are you going to go to your first football game? Achilles is their starting quarterback.” 

There was a moment of complete chaos as Perfect Fade dropped a jug of milk en route to the belt. Pat had never seen a gallon of milk break before. The ricochet was phenomenal. Bri managed to get behind him while Helen caught the tail end of it with her camera. Pat and Perfect Fade’s friend, Blue-Shirt, took the brunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” Blue-Shirt said in evident awe.

“Shit, man,” Perfect Fade said, almost comically horrified.

“It’s cool, man.” Pat could feel milk sloshing through his socks, beading his one pair of moderately clean jeans. He had been putting off doing laundry… gah. “I was going to wash these anyway.”

The cashier called for a replacement and Perfect Fade and Blue-Shirt moved to the side, super awkwardly, waiting for another gallon of milk.

“So,” Helen stepped into the awkward like the champ she was. “Do you guys go to State?”

Perfect Fade’s mouth was forming an answer when Blue Shirt said, “Yeah. We, uh, do. Go to State. Like for two years now?” He was looking at Perfect Shade, who had narrowed his eyes.

“Something like that.”

“This is Bri,” Pat said, trying to be helpful, and took a finger to the ribs for it. “And, er, this is Helen and Penelope. I’m Patroclus.”

“Er, like Ach--” Perfect Fade elbowed Blue-Shirt so hard in the solar plexus that Pat was sure he was going to kill him. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Troy. And this is _Dick_.” He popped the last. “And… that’s our milk. You folks have a good night, right?”

Bri watched them walk away as the cashier rang up the Lovelace goods. “He has such beautiful calves.”

“Truth. Too bad they were clearly up to something,” Pen said, loading bags into the cart. 

“Maybe Mr Calves--”

“Perfect Fade,” Pat corrected.

“Maybe _Perfect Fade_ thought dropping the milk took him out of the running. Even I didn’t know milk cartons could do that.”

By the time they were done, Pen having taken over bagging duties, Perfect Fade and his friend were gone. And they were the proud owners of $112 worth of kale, eggs, two lemons, sundry junk foods, a red pepper hummus, and four plastic chalices.

**[Chorus]**

[Troilus] We have a situation

[Memnon] ?

[Troilus] I think we’ve been spotted

[Memnon] Were you intercepted?

[Troilus] Answer unclear.

[Amydon] We are so fucked

[Amydon] Repeat. We are so fucked

[Memnon] But were you intercepted?

[Troilus] Unsure. We’re sitting in the parking lot.

“Where the hell did you get those binoculars?” Troilus’ Jordans were on the dash, the rest of him below the right side window. They both smelled like trash. Except for the Jordans. His babies would never be so ill used.

“I just…they’re for bird watching, okay? Screw you!” 

“There’s no shame in having unconventional hobbies. It’s the bowties I’m worried about, bro.” It was really hard to be the Voice of Reason when he still smelled like dumpster juice.

“I think they...made us.”

“I have never seen any of those people in my life,” Troilus sighed. Because. He would remember the girl in the headscarf. Sister with a British accent? Keep it together, man.

“Helen, the short one, is in my Pol 305.”

“Isn’t that a senior level course.”

“Is that the most important thing here?”

“I mean. You’re a freshman, bro. I think it’s worth noting that you’re in a senior level course.”

“I took a lot of AP courses in high school. Technically, I should be a junior. But my parents thought it was in my best interest to quote ‘ _experience true college life_.’ Also, I’m in remedial maths.”

“Like. Algebra for Jocks?” 

Amydon shrugged, clearly blushing. “I mean. It’s not just jocks.” He went silent. “Okay, it’s mostly jocks.”

“You gotta channel that bowtie power, bro. Like your forefather before you...hrm, I guess the fore suggests that they’re before you--”

“Focus.” Amydon elbowed him. “Where the fuck did the palladium go? We made the drop… like...an hour ago.”

“I told you not to put it _directly in_ the dumpster. It’s extremely suspicious for Memnon or Hermes to go digging through it. For…” He pointed to his beloved shoes. “ _Me_ to be digging through it. Let’s be honest. Your stick arms are holding you back.”

[Troilus] What was so unreasonable about doing the handoff in the library?

[Troilus] Like normal human beings

[Amydon] I thought it was a good idea

[Troilus] How are you texting and holding the binoculars at the same time?

[Memnon] There are binoculars involved?

[Memnon] What the fuck is going on?

“I told you it was cursed. It probably got up and walked away.” Amydon came up enough to look through the binoculars. At the back door of Krogers, where an employee stood smoking a cigarette...and looking at their car. “It made noises under the bed.”

“I do not believe in the supernatural.” Troilus pulled up for a quick peek. Kroger employee still smoking. Still looking at the car. “If it is Satan why would he be hanging out under your bed? No offense, but there's not a lot of entertainment happening there. ”

“Maybe he just needs a break, right?” Amydon gave him a look, defending his bed. “It’s hard to run an operation like that.”

Troilus shot up, knocking the binoculars out of Amydon’s hands. “Security.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no. I cannot have an arrest on my record.”

‘Security’ was a guy in too small polyester and a walkie talkie. He couldn’t be any more than fifteen. He let them off with a “you guys need to move along,” and advised against returning. Noting the security camera and the three employees watching them from the back door.

[Amydon] I’m going to be kicked out of school

[Amydon] What will I tell my parents?

[Troilus] That Satan lives under your bed

[Troilus] And made you do it

[Memnon] I just

[Memnon] We’ll go over tomorrow

[Memnon] It’s probably okay

[Hermes] Fuck.

[Hermes] Will you fuckers stop texting? My pants were going to vibrate off during study group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story. I did not know a gallon of milk could explode so spectacularly until I did it myself.


	5. Omelets? Or Ohmy-lets?

_Later that night (and early the next morning)_

Pat was over the frying pan, waiting for the laundry buzzer, when his phone pinged.

**[Achilles] What are you doing?**

[Pat] Making omelets 

[Achilles] I want an omelet

[Pat] Come over then

[Achilles] war council

[Pat] ? 

[Achilles] I don’t want have to kill you

[Achilles] Not that I would ever kill you

[Achilles] I like you

[Achilles] A lot

[Pat] I like you too

[Pat] I’ll make you an omelet for breakfast tomorrow 

There wasn’t another text, so Pat dropped the phone on the counter and fished out a jar of salsa for dressing.

The phone buzzed again.

[Unknown number] Killie’s phone has been confiscated

[Unknown number] I am a courier under heavy fire to pass this message

[Unknown number] Achilles will eat your omelet with all the love in his tiny, dark heart

[Unknown number] Omelet is not a euphemism

[Unknown number] Or is it?

[Pat] Um?

[Unknown number] Antilochus

[Pat] how are you still texting?

[Unknown number] I am typing under the table

[Unknown number] But making direct eye-contact with Agamemnon

[Unknown number] It is a skill

[Unknown number] I am skillful

[Pat] Ok?

[Unknown number] Killie thinks you have a lovely a$$

[Unknown number] Over and out 

  
  


**Pat didn’t wake up** until Achilles was literally laying on him the following morning. “Oh fuck,” he tried to shoot up but was held down by over 200 lbs of asshole. “What time is it?”

“Where is my omelet?”

“What?”

“I was promised an omelet. Oh,” his eyes lit up, bare millimeters from Patroclus’ own. “It _was_ a euphemism.” 

“Not everything is about dicks, Achilles.” Patroclus rolled his eyes. 

“I came _all the way over here_ for either omelets or dick.” Achilles wedged the rat’s nest of his curls against Patroclus’ neck. It was ticklish as hell. “All lies.”

“Sorry. I had a late night. I can get up to make you an omelet.” 

“I can sneak you into breakfast. But not Locris again. The door monitor is getting suspicious.”

“I knew there was a limit to your charm.”

“I am the best. But Lois is… better.”

“That hurt you, didn’t it?” Patroclus ran his left hand uncomfortably through Achilles’ hair. He was in a very awkward position.

“Why do I love that you are a dick, Patroclus?”

“Way to bring it back around there.” He could feel Achilles smiling against his neck. “I need to take a shower first.” Achilles didn’t move. He was very, very heavy. “You can come with me.” He had never seen anyone move so fast before. Especially Achilles first thing in the morning. 

“Patroclus.” Achilles sighed as soon as he’d extricated himself from the duvet in wrinkled joggers and a long-sleeved shirt with the TKE letters on it. “You sleep in your briefs. This is the best discovery ever.”

Pat looked down. He was, in fact, in dark blue briefs with every follicle of hair standing on end. Facilities would not turn on the heat until October. “I doubt this is on the level of penicillin or sliced bread.”

“No one asked your opinion.” 

“I’m sorry. I thought we were having a conversation. Which requires active listening and the exchange of information.” He bent over to grab clothes from the laundry basket, one of Achilles’ large hands grasping at his hip. He was extraordinarily tactile while Pat had never grown up with casual touch. It was kind of nice, actually. They agreed that most manhandling was alright unless it involved hot beverages or dicks. Dicks required explicit permission.

There were two bathrooms at Lovelace. The basement only had a toilet and sink and a buzzy fluorescent fixture. This was the preferred location for vomiting and Ginsberg during inspections. The best one was upstairs and smelled like honey and tea tree oil. It had two plush rugs and a cabinet with communal towels. They had _washcloths_.

“There is so much _stuff_.” Achilles was large in the space, turning to take in the detritus of the four civilized persons who lived there. He sat on the toilet.

“Well, we don’t bathe in the blood of our enemies here,” Pat fished a towel out of the cabinet before reaching in to turn on the tap without getting wet. It took forever for the hot water to start up, skin still goose-flesh and Achilles pulled him between his legs. 

“I do not believe you. I _know_ Penelope and Helen and now Briseis.” Achilles hooked his hand in the waistband of Pat’s briefs and tugged them over the jut of Pat’s hips. Achilles was not as affected by the cold as Pat, the proof evident in his joggers. Out of deference to his own morning breath, Achilles kissed Patroclus’ abdomen. “Tell me the truth, Patroclus. Does Bri have a jar of eyeballs?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny this.”

Achilles continued to pull down his briefs. Pat’s dick was valiantly trying to participate. “Is this okay?”

Pat nodded and Achilles dropped the briefs to his thighs. Pat wasn’t as built as Achilles, but neither was he a slouch. He’d grown lazier at Troy but had always been strong and a decent runner. And honestly, he had the body he had. There was no point in questioning it if Achilles was, in fact, removing his briefs. Which he was.

Achilles licked the head of his cock before moving away. “You should probably get in the shower if we’re going to make it to breakfast, Patroclus.”

“You ass.” Achilles grinned, very pleased with himself. Pat groaned, but stepped over his briefs to get into the shower. 

Sometimes his best interests got in the way of his best interests.

  
  


[Unknown number] Pat

[Unknown number] Pat

[Unknown number] Pat

[Unknown number] PayDay candy bars are made of Peanuts the same way Peanuts refer to a small amount of money.

[Unknown number] Pat

[Patroclus] I’m assuming this is Antilochus

[Unknown number] I am offended that I am not already a contact

[Unknown number] You will be hearing from my lawyer

[Patroclus] You go ahead and do that

[Unknown number] I am bored

[Unknown number] What are you doing?

[Patroclus] Achilles :)

[Unknown number] OMG

[Unknown number] You _are_ a beautiful human being

[Unknown number] Not that I doubted

[Patroclus] I am in lab

[Unknown number] We have a lab?

[Patroclus] Let me blow your mind

[Unknown number] Please do

[Patroclus] We have two

[Antilochus] mind. blown.

[Antilochus] Are you making bombs?

[Patroclus] No. I dissect bodies for my scholarship

[Patroclus] I am a body snatcher

[Antilochus] …..

[Patroclus] though I’m eating a sandwich now

[Antiochus] …..

[Antilochus] wait

[Antilochus] this is not a turkey sandwich is it?

[Antilochus] Patroclus. did Achilles give you that turkey sandwich?


	6. Lost shoes and hearts

**[Chorus]**

[Hermes] Mayday! Mayday!

[Hermes] We have a sitch

[Hermes] TKE sympathizers!

[Hermes] oh my fuck

[Hermes] answer the fucking phone

Hermes fumbled his phone as Briseis Lyrnessus [Troy ‘22 / Hometown: London / Major: Chemistry / House: Lovelace] and Patroclus Menoides [Troy ‘22 / Hometown: Orlando / Major: Pre-med / House: Lovelace] walked past the shadow he was trying to melt into. Poorly.

At least he was in disguise, borrowing his roommate’s oversize jeans and a paint splattered hoodie.

Unlike his other brothers, Hermes had dug out the Troy College directory - which included pictures - to do recon on parties to be avoided at all cost (PTBAAAC, aka: POINTBLANK). Briseis was easy to ID with the hijab, but Patroclus’ picture did not do him justice. He was stupid hot and… they just made direct eye-contact. Patroclus nodded, Hermes nodded back. _Was nodding too sus? Should I have nodded?_

[Hermes] OMG

[Hermes] i just made eye-zcontact with patroclus

[Hermes] answer teh fucking phneo

_Pick up Memnon_. It was just supposed to be a simple run to pick up the doll and gtfo. However. The employees went out for breaks near the bin? And there was a security guard patrolling with a flashlight and a walkie-talkie. Did Walmart ever have security guards before? 

[2485675309 <3] Oh hey. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you 

[2485675309 <3] What are you up to?

_Fucking finally_. Briseis and Patroclus were at the self checkout with two containers of ice cream. He made direct eye-contact with a frowning Briseis and then ducked his head, texting with one hand. 

[Hermes] where are you?

[2485675309 <3] In the library

[Hermes] come to the front

[2485675309 <3] Of the library? Sure. Let me just get my things together

Hermes looked down. What? Who was 2485675309 <3? He scrolled up the convo and found a picture. Oh. My. God. It was the guy in his Econ course. The one who sat to the front right of him. The one whose hair curled around the collar of his shirt. The one who asked for his number after the first day of class. 

This was simultaneously the best and worst thing in the world. 

“I can’t just leave him hanging! Statistically, less than 3% of Troy College’s population could be gay! He texted me back and wants to meet.” It was 10pm on a school night. The dude had texted him back. He had texted him back _even knowing_ that this might be a booty call. 

This could be a successful booty call. _kskskdkskajjsksk._

[Hermes] Hey. no hurry! I’m headed back to campus in ten

[Hermes] So we’ll meet then? <3

“Hello,” Briseis Lyrnessus [Troy ‘22 / Hometown: London / Major: Chemistry / House: Lovelace] said, holding out a $5 bill and a pre-made sandwich. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? It’s getting cold.”

 _Uggh_. “Yes, I--” Hermes nodded. 

“We could drop you--” 

“No. No. I’m good.” Hermes cut off Patroclus Menoides [Troy ‘22 / Hometown: Orlando / Major: Pre-med / House: Lovelace]. 2.33% of Troy College’s 43 potential gay student body.

[Memnon] WTF man

[Memnon] i dropped my phone

[Memnon] and… <3?

[Memnon] is this some sort of stupid code?

[Memnon] I am so done with you motherfuckers  
  


**The following evening** , they _just happened to_ show up at Walmart (Pat: Bri’s hook-up drive by). Bri was disappointed. Achilles was otherwise engaged in Greek politics. Pat was catching up on _Troilus and Cressida_ and wanting to stab Shakespeare. “Maybe we just need to try next week? They seemed unlikely to ever return after--” 

“How many Troys do you think are at State?”

“Stats, remember?”

“Listen, Menoides, this is more important than calculating a patient’s likelihood of survival.”

“Well… there are,” he pulled up his grandpa smartphone. “About 10x more students than ours. You could try googling ‘Troy,’ ‘hot guy,’ and ‘nice calves.’”

“He did have nice calves, right?”

“Yep.” The light from Pat’s screen flickered. “Huh. The first result is for beefy men and muscular calves…”

“ _Sexy_.” She punched him on the arm. “Ugh. Let’s go home. I want cheese sticks, though.” 

“Shotgun,” Pat called, laughing as he ran towards the car.

“You think you are so funny, Pat,” Bri sighed, finding the keys in her coat pocket. “But you are not.” She’d borrowed Pen’s car after promising to take her bathroom cleaning shifts for the month. Pat knew she loved having a license and the ability to drive herself. 

She was just not very good at it.

Case in point. “The yellow light is just the running lights. You can’t drive with just the running lights.” He pointed out the control. “You need to turn on your headlights and the blue light should be-- STOP!”

Grateful for his religious usage of a seat belt, Bri brought the car to a squealing stop. “Oh my god, I almost hit that guy!” That someone was running out of the radius of the lights, ducking between two cars. Unlike the lights, Bri was familiar with the window control. “Watch where you’re going, you bloody tosspot!”

“Wait here.” Pat peeled out of the passenger seat, kneeling down to check the front right tire. Pat held up a small, white shoe. 

“Oh my god,” Bri covered her eyes. “Oh my god, oh my god, did I _hit_ a bloody child! I’m going to be deported!”

  
  


**“I do actually** know how football works,” Pat said the following morning while mixing pancake batter (Pat’s-Famous-Pancakes ™). “I do not live in a box.”

“I want you to understand that I am the best when I win for you.” 

“I do know that it is a team effort.”

“I am the leader of the Achaeans and I will dedicate my victory to you.”

“Please don’t do this in front of actual humans. Blueberries?”

“Yes, please.” Achilles was on the random chair in the corner in deference to Bri, Helen, Penelope, and Penelope’s friend Eppy taking the regular chairs. No one had met Eppy until he came downstairs. 

Achilles had been giving him the side-eye, Penelope giving Achilles the side-eye, and Eppy had begun to melt into Penelope to avoid all side-eye. Bri gave Pat the side-eye and Pat, who did not understand the language of side-eye, continued to be a normal human being around Eppy. “Do you want fruit in your pancakes?” He motioned to the cartons of blueberries, strawberries, and raisins. Only Helen ate raisins in her pancakes. It was very odd.

Though oblivious to most social norms, Patroclus took extra effort when someone was uncomfortable in a room. Been there, done that sort of thing. It helped that slowly melting Eppy was closest to Pat and furthest from Achilles.

“Just plain, please.”

“As you wish.” 

“Though,” his cheeks colored, “Do you have lemons?”

“Is lemon juice alright? Our citrus has become a condo for fruit flies.” He walked over to pull the container from the fridge.

Pat could _feel_ Achilles gearing up to say something. He had no idea why he was being an ass to Eppy. He did not have the context to read the side-eyeing. But he did have a spatula which he used to (very gently) smack Achilles on the head. “Don’t.” 

There was audible silence - at least Pat could hear it - the second after the silicon hit Achilles’ head. Helen was gleeful, Pen’s eyebrow snapped up, and Bri tapped her spoon against her plate. 

“Are you going to touch my pancakes after that touched Achilles’ face?”

“Patroclus!” Achilles cried out with such feeling that Pat tensed just a little. “I love you.” He immediately looked surprised that he had said it, mouth shutting on a click. 

“I--” Pat had barely gotten out when Achilles said,

“I have to go! Football things.”

“But your pancakes!” Pat followed him into the hall, holding the spatula and the lemon juice. “Achilles.” He managed to catch a feral Achilles by the hood, handing him the spatula. “It’s okay.” Pat’s voice dropped, “I _might_...love you, too.” The last was so quiet that he wasn’t sure Achilles had heard it. His face exploded in happiness. 

Like the dorks they were, they made out furiously and then Achilles ran out with the spatula.

[bri-says]: PhilHELLENism just posted a picture

[stitch-witch]: PhilHELLENism just posted a picture

[trans-late] PhilHELLENism just posted a picture

“You don’t think he’s going to actually sacrifice a goat before the game do you?” Bri asked, eating the blueberry off Achilles’ stolen pancake. Her fork skills were on point. “That was kind of painful, though. Until the making out part.”

“That was kind of hot, right?” Helen agreed, looking at her phone more than Bri as it exploded in a flurry of pops and dings.

“You know I can hear you,” Pat said from the hallway. If he had a very stupid smile on his face, well, that was between himself and… Helen’s camera. Discovered later after 120 views. 

Penelope suddenly started laughing. It was a full, real laugh which they rarely heard from her. The kind that held on and only ended in tears. “I used to think Achilles was kind of a hard ass and he _is_ a dick,” she said, using the knuckle of her right pointer finger to dash away tears. “But my boy has him addled.” 

“Pattled,” Eppy said suddenly.

“You are a national treasure, Penelope’s-Friend-Eppy. I’m filing copyright on #Pattled.”

Pat did not return to the kitchen that day. 

Except for dish duty. Because somehow he was _always_ on the rota.

  
  
  


**[Chorus]**

“We’re back with the latest news and weather forecast. I’m Arce Swift.” 

Camera pans to the right. “And I’m Zeph Anemoi.” Video of an area Walmart plays to the left of Zeph “Tonight… have local shopping plazas become popular drug drops? We talked to County Sheriff Soteria at a Walmart near Troy College…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Patrochilles next chapter. Sort of fell in love with these idiot pledges.


	7. TKEs Go To War

**Achilles asked him** to meet at TKE after the game - which the Achaeans won - and he was sitting on the porch when Achilles and Ajax rolled up. Ajax tapped his shoulder with a “Hey, Pat,” before heading in.

“Why didn’t you wait inside?”

“It felt weird to be in your room without you.” Achilles’ eyes went soft as he took Pat’s mitten hand. 

“When you move in with me--”

“When?” Achilles looked at him through his light lashes and gave him what he probably thought was an impish smile. It was. 

“If you don’t sit on Antilochus’ couch, you won’t get an STD.” 

“Is that a selling point?”

“Is it working?”

“Not really.” Achilles kept looking at him, eyebrow raised and the scar of his mouth pulling up, still holding one mitten hand. “ _Maybe_.”

“It is working. I am the best.”

“I’m going to get pointers from Lois.”

“No!” Achilles threw his hand to his mouth in mock horror just inside the door.

“On the upside, if Lois becomes my mentor, I’ll probably get all the french toast sticks I want.” 

“I will give you all the french toast sticks you want. For the rest of your life. And when you are sick, I will make you french toast stick soup.” 

“That is… so disgusting.” 

Achilles peeked around the corner - into the Room of Seven Couches where Pat could hear swearing and packaging being opened - before turning back. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” 

“Because I… don’t want you to... see something?” Achilles was completely flummoxed by Pat’s question. Pat was learning that very few people questioned Achilles’ demands. Possibly no one. Something about him dried up whys and tapped the brain’s neural mechanism of obedience and conformity. Pat’s lack of complete confidence often confused Achilles. But a little cognitive dissonance was good for the soul.

“Like super secret illuminati something?”

“I wish the pledges remembered that we were founded by a sect of 16th-century Spanish heretics who claimed special religious enlightenment.” Automedon said, coming up behind Achilles with a box claiming to contain a “realistic, ultra-soft dildo for beginners with a flared suction cup.” 

“Planning on a good night?”

“I prefer a girthier model myself, but…” He shrugged. Automedon was a bruiser with the heart of an accountant. Pat learned in passing that his family “had horses.” Which is to say, they bred and showed horses. Internationally. Sometimes, Pat had no idea what was his life. “When life shafts you, you have to grab the other knob.”

“No.” Achilles, horrified, put his hands over Patroclus’ ears while he laughed.

“You’re making Killie feel inadequate,” Antilochus shouted, inciting Achilles’: 

“I have a very nice dick as you well know!”

Antilochus ignored him with, _“_ More hands will make us finish sooner.” 

“Quick draw. Your forte,” this from Podalarius, who was inexplicably in face paint and camo. 

“Touche, Poddington Bear. Touche.” 

Dragging Achilles behind, Pat peeked into the room and found that it had become a sex shop. Antilochus was trying to unpack a four-pack of pink jelly dildos dubiously called Mr _Roger’s Neighborhood_. There was a pile of the same at his feet.

Pat had a feeling he wanted nothing to do with this. “I am not touching your dick.” 

The joy that crossed Antilochus’ face was comical. Blue eyes sparking and mouth bowed. “I’m not going to tell you I love you… because Killie will kill me.” He paused for dramatic effect, “But I love you, Patroclus.”

Achilles groaned, dropping his head on Pat’s shoulder. “You are corrupting Patroclus.”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t seen the dick of everyone in this room.” They paused from their dildo assembly line to contemplate.

“Fair.”

“True.”

“But mine is the best!” With an _oof_ , Achilles picked Patroclus up by his waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. Which was fairly impressive as Pat was flailing for the elastic at Achilles’ joggers. “But,” Achilles paused before running up the stairs - _with Patroclus_ \- “Patroclus has the best ass.”

“Oh my god, Achilles. Put me down.” Achilles, not even winded, dropped him onto the couch under his bed. “Never do that again.”

“Really? What if the building was burning and you tripped down the stairs and broke your femur and there was no other way to save you?”

“That is highly unlikely as it takes over 4000 newtons of force to break a human femur. But if that specific scenario occurs you have my permission to fireman carry me.” 

Once the blood drained from his head, Pat saw that he could… see the floor. And see through the windows and both Achilles and Antilochus’ beds were made. Sort of. Someone had even duct-taped the closet door straight.

“Wow. You cleaned.”

“Yes,” Achilles sounded particularly pleased, though also stepped in front of the closet. “I would be a good house husband.”

“You would be an awful house husband.” Pat soothed Achilles’ frown with a finger across his knuckles. “But thank you for putting in the effort.” Pat surmised, from asides and observation, that Achilles had grown up in a house with _staff_. He (hoped) Achilles wasn’t a slob _per se_ but only unaware of what went into adulting. He did do his own clothes. Hopefully.

“Patroclus.” Achilles had gone very serious, flipping Pat’s hand to take it. “Do you want to meet my father?”

“Like… right this second?” Pat looked at the closet meaningfully and back at Achilles, who had begun to relax. It had not yet ceased to amaze Pat how quickly he went from hard to soft. Changeable and quick to react.

“He’s not going to jump out of the closet.” He arched a brow. “There’s no room in there.” 

“I feel like there should be a joke there.”

“It’s my father!” Horrified, Achilles waved a hand as if that explained everything. “He went to Troy and he’s here for Homecoming. He wants to meet you.”

“He...knows about me?” That was kind of a _big deal_ . Pat had never had a relationship that moved so fast or so easily. It was as if the pace of Patrochilles ( _oh my god_ , he’d thought the first time his mind had used the stupid portmanteau) was lightning, but their lightning.

“Of course he knows about you.” Patroclus had no idea what his face was doing, but Achilles had squinted to try and read it. “Is that...okay?” Achilles’ face finally settled on uncertainty. Pat didn’t like that look on him. 

So he kissed the knuckle he still had. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.”

Oh, the fam talk. It seemed they’d been working around it. Pat _had_ been working around it because he didn’t have one? It didn’t have the fierce immediacy it had when he was younger, but it also didn’t usually come up after he was emancipated at 15. People always wanted to say they were sorry. But he hated it. He wasn’t sorry. “I don’t really talk to anyone in my family, so I guess it just feels like a big deal?” 

“We don’t have to talk about this. You’re clearly uncomfortable.” Achilles squeezed his hand.

“I _want_ to meet your father.” Pat tried to push out as much determination as possible in his tone and Achilles crawled over him more gracefully than he would have to kiss him. He was warm and damp and lovely. “I just had shitty parents. For a while.”

“Well, you have me now. And,” he put a hand behind Patroclus’ neck, “A dinner not obtained by matching wiles with Lois. Who will _never_ ” Achilles swallowed Patroclus’ smile, a grounding sort of kiss, “Be your mentor.”

“All this serious talk,” Patroclus managed, breaking back but only a few centimeters. “I thought you had lured me here with sexy motives.”

“Oh,” Achilles said, a pop of surprise. “Let’s do that.”

**Dinner with Peleus was very nice** , even if Patroclus was worried he could smell Achilles’ mouth on him.

**[Chorus]**

[Perimedes] Code Red! I repeat Code Red!

[Hector] Where?

[Perimedes] Olympus

[Perimedes] bring sheets

[Alastor] omfg

[Orestes: Alumni relations; PR] So…

[Orestes] I’m welcoming an alum from 1965, who might I add is a donor, into Olympus

[Orestes] btw this is Dardanus

[Orestes] the founder of our fine society at Troy if you forgot

[Orestes] biggest donor

[Sarpedon] No…

[Orestes] Ready to show him the glories of his halcyon days of yore

[Orestes] And what did I find

[Orestes] a dick

[Orestes] Not one dick

[Orestes] not two dicks

[Orestes] but one hundred dicks where once held the glories of the Sigs

[Sarpedon] This is unconscionable

[Sarpedon] It was only a doll

[Alastor] gentlemen, I believe the feeks have declared war

[Hector] Have we located the palladium?

[Hector] mtg w/ Agamemnon tomorrow w/ diomedes

[Hector] I need to have something

[Alastor] Paris is not answering msgs

[Alastor] pulled favor w/ astor

[Alastor] Zetas are trying to crack his id

[Alastor] Sarpedon will owe life if successful

[Sarpedon]?!

[Perimedes] suspect pledges to roll

[Perimedes] poss don’t know where it is

[Perimedes] but seemed v invested in the palladium

[Orestes] let us not overlook the efforts of this unnamed hero

[Orestes] who was able to play it off as an art installation in honor of Priapus 

[Orestes] as the Sigs sponsor the arts and do not censor 

[Orestes] have check

[Sarpedon] you are a god among men

[Orestes] yes. yes I am.


End file.
